


Merely Players

by Laughing_Phoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Inventive Distractions, Light Angst, Shakespeare Quotations, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laughing_Phoenix/pseuds/Laughing_Phoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which SHIELD and Shakespeare collide, with frequently hilarious results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Much Ado About Nothing, Act 1, sc 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m alive, so I’m not Shakespeare, and I don’t own any of Marvel’s assorted properties.

Despite the vaunted titles earned by virtue of being among the less than a dozen trustworthy members of SHIELD, the team spends a lot of time in the field. This, Trip supposes, is a natural consequence of there being less than a dozen trustworthy members of SHIELD. He can’t really complain - he’s not hopeless at the paperwork inherent in running an organization like SHIELD, but he’s happier with his boots on the ground, in the thick of things.

They’re after a group of former SHIELD/HYDRA agents who’ve gone into “private security” at a biotech company in Cambridge, tucked in Harvard’s shadow. Linking the words HYDRA and biotech makes Coulson and May nervous, but they don’t have any proof that these guys are actually doing anything nefarious. Hence today’s mission. May and Skye are sneaking into the server room to see if they can dig up anything, with Coulson, Simmons and Trip hanging out at a cafe with patio seating across the street as backup.

If all goes well, the backup team might not have to even do anything - this practically counts as vacation.

May and Skye are playing a high-powered exec and her PA respectively, and from what’s coming over the coms they’re carrying it off beautifully. Trip considers his coffee, then looks back up at Coulson and Simmons, leaning in like he’s listening intently and projecting _earnest college student_. With Simmons in cardigan and skirt and Coulson wearing a fuzzy sweater and his glasses, they look like a pair of TAs meeting with their professor.

“Success!” Skye hisses. “Alright guys, I’m in. Hello, what’s this?”

“What’ve you found?” Coulson asks.

“So the HYDRA goon squad is really here as security, that’s legit. What’s a little less legit is that they’re specifically guarding a Dr. Hélène Segal, who looks like she’s gotten to the point in her research that she needs live subjects and can’t get the grants.”

“At which point HYDRA either takes her research or offers her the opportunity to continue her experiments,” Simmons mutters.

“I think taking’s the order of the day for this one, but I’m not sure.”

“Download what you can and head to the rendezvous, we’ll discuss this in further detail then,” Coulson says.

There’s a five minute wait, which Simmons fills by chattering about a paper she read recently, and then May comes on the line. “We have our exit, but could use a distraction.”

“What do you need?” Coulson asks.

“The people watching the front doors - I need you to draw their eyes.”

Coulson nods. “We can do that. Give me two minutes, then you should be clear.” He turns to the table. “How’s your Shakespeare?”

“It’s been a few years,” Simmons says, and Trip nods agreement.

“[MIT has transcripts of all the plays posted online](http://shakespeare.mit.edu/) \- go to Much Ado About Nothing, act one, scene one,” Coulson gives them a moment to pull out their phones and do so. “Ready?”

There’s a grin on his face, and Trip wonders exactly how much fun Coulson’s having with this. And then he quickly drops his eyes to his phone, because he honestly hasn’t read Shakespeare since college lit and Coulson’s diving right in, voice pitched to carry.

“I learn in this letter that Don Peter of Arragon comes this night to Messina.” He’s got a hand up, holding an imaginary piece of paper.

Simmons is clearly more on the ball than Trip, because she picks up the response cleanly. “He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him.”

Trip scrolls down quickly, skimming the conversation between Leonato and the Messenger to find the next character’s lines, and comes to a halt at Beatrice’s. He raises an eyebrow at Coulson, who raises one back, still waving around his imaginary letter and clearly enjoying himself hugely. Trip shrugs, then waits for Coulson to expound on the benefits of weeping for joy over schadenfreude.

He may not be a terribly convincing Beatrice, but at least he’s on cue and loud enough for their rapidly gathering audience to hear. “I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?”

Simmons chokes back a laugh, “I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army of any sort.”

There’s a line that’s technically Hero’s, but Coulson skips Leonato’s next line and bogarts Hero’s instead. “My niece means Signior Benedick of Padua.”

Simmons, smiling, addresses Trip, “O, he's returned; and as pleasant as ever he was.” Clearly she finds this exactly as funny as Coulson does.

Well, let it never be said that Antoine Triplett can’t rise to the occasion when it presents itself. He leans back in his chair and gets expansive with his gestures. “He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the flight; and my uncle's fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt.” He leans forward again, dropping an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? For indeed I promised to eat all of his killing.”

Simmons raises an eyebrow at this, but when the Messenger’s next few lines appear does her best to play bemused but professional. Coulson/Leonato is clearly trying not to laugh, so Trip escalates a little, messing around with his empty coffee cup. Someone in the crowd is recording them on their phone.

Coulson is doing better at keeping up with the (apparently memorized) script and listening to May and Skye than Trip is, so it’s a bit of a surprise when the man stands up during Simmons’ next line (“He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.”) and gestures them out of their chairs.

Trip slides to his feet, doing his best to imitate his teenaged female cousins when he says “O Lord, he will hang upon him like a _disease_ : he is sooner caught than the pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad. God help the noble Claudio! If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured.” He trails along after Coulson with Simmons as the older man leads them to the corner, where a narrow alleyway cuts between the buildings.

“I will hold friends with you, lady,” Simmons tells him.

“Do, good friend,” Trip teases back.

Coulson chuckles, turning to face the younger agents. “You will never run mad, niece.”

“No,” Trip agrees cheerfully. “Not till a hot January.”

Coulson slashes his hand sideways, cutting off Simmons’ next line. “Good,” he says softly. “Turn, bow, then down the alley and back to meet up with Skye and May.”

Trip and Simmons do as told, Simmons grinning at the applause from their small audience.

When they get back to the van, Skye is grinning. “Coulson, you never told me you did Shakespeare!”

May, leaning against the wall, is smiling. “It’s been a while since you used that little technique. How many do you still remember?”

“Just bits and pieces,” Coulson shrugs.

“You’ve done this before then, sir?” Simmons asks.

“I think my favorite is the time you did _Hamlet’s_ ‘What a piece of work is man’ at an embassy dinner,” May tells Coulson, who groans a little.

“I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“Now you definitely won’t!” Skye chirps, and Trip starts laughing.


	2. A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 3, sc 2

It’s a crisp fall evening in Albuquerque, and Melinda’s eager to get out of her heels and take the pins and combs out of her hair - as much as she likes the way Fitz has disguised little tech goodies as simple accessories, like the micro EMPs and retractable blades, the extra weight has been pulling on her scalp all day and a low-grade headache’s building in her temples. Unfortunately, she’s stuck watching a corrupt senator do his level best to impress his barely-legal date by ordering expensive wines and blathering on about how well he knows any famous person he’s ever happened to be in the same room with.

“Anything?” she murmurs behind the rim of her wine glass.

“Not really,” Simmons says. She’s confined to the plane for this mission, after spraining an ankle while testing new gear. “He’s corrupt, no doubt about it, but it looks like he’s taking money from oil barons and real-estate developers, not evil organizations intent on world domination.”

“Maybe not, but there’re some pretty slimy people on the list,” Skye’s clearly distracted by something she sees on her computer. “Coulson, can I pin some felonies on this guy?”

“Only if he’s actually committed them,” Coulson tells her from his seat at the bar, across the restaurant from May.

Skye makes a disgruntled noise, and the tapping sounds of her keyboard speed up. “Okay, Simmons, are you seeing this?”

“Yes,” the scientist says slowly. “Does this mean…”

“Sure looks like it does.”

“But then that means,” Simmons breathes.

“Anybody want to fill the rest of us in?” Melinda asks dryly.

“This guy’s a go-between,” Skye says. “Passing money, favors, making connections, all for a donation to his campaign funds. Or, you know, his personal bank accounts.”

“Most of it is what you’d expect from a corrupt politician,” Simmons adds, speaking over Skye, “but there are records of his taking bribes from Cybertek - and he was apparently introduced to them by someone at AIM.”

“More to the point,” Skye cuts back in, “is that twelve hours ago a large sum of money was dropped into this man’s account from an ‘anonymous source’. An anonymous source whose account number matches one of the ones Project Centipede used.”

“Is that so,” Coulson murmurs. Melinda can practically hear his mind racing, putting the pieces together. AIM plus Cybertek plus Centipede equals… “This guy’s not small-time then. He’s a broker.”

“Any idea what Centipede wanted from him?” Melinda asks.

“Not yet,” Skye says. “I’ll keep digging, but this would be easier if I had physical access to his computers.”

“Will a phone do?” The campaign offices have extensive cameras, and the senator’s house has the best security system money can buy. It’s why they’re watching him in the restaurant in the first place.

“If you could get ahold of his laptop, that’d be better.”

“Hm.” The restaurant parking lot is gravel and poorly lit, and they don’t have valet parking to worry about, but that does mean getting ahold of the man’s keys or breaking into the car. As far as May’s concerned, lifting his keys is easier.

“What are you thinking?” Coulson asks.

“Remember the New Year’s Eve party in ‘05?” Melinda asks, pulling out her phone to double-check her lines.

“...Which part?” Coulson’s wary, and given the way the party had gone, Melinda can’t really blame him.

“That bet you had going with Sitwell.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” They’d all been a touch beyond tipsy at the time, but it hadn’t mattered. “Because we’re going to do that again when this guy gets up to visit the gent’s.”

They don’t have long to wait. The senator’s been enjoying the wine a little too much, and it takes its toll. He pushes back from his table with a “‘Scuse me darlin, I’ll be right back,” to his date, and Melinda gives him just long enough to leave the room before she moves.

“I wonder if Titania be awaked,” she remarks to nobody in particular. “Then, what it was that next came in her eye, which she must dote on in extremity.” Coulson stands, and she crosses the room to meet him, reaching out a hand. “Here comes my messenger. How now, mad spirit! What night-rule now about this haunted grove?”

Coulson takes her hand with a courtly little bow, then tucks it into his arm. “My mistress with a monster is in love,” he says, then goes on with the rest of the speech, leading them towards the exit by way of the senator’s table. He stops as he finishes the monologue, turning Melinda to face him. “I led them on in this distracted fear, and left sweet Pyramus translated there: when in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.”

Melinda throws back her head and laughs, drawing as many eyes as she can to her. “This falls out better than I could devise.” She’s between Phil and the senator’s jacket and he hasn’t lost any of his old skill at picking pockets. At his wink she turns again, towing him from the room. “But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes with the love-juice, as I did bid thee do?”

Phil hums as they reach the desk to settle their bill. “I took him sleeping,--that is finish'd too,-- and the Athenian woman by his side: that, when he waked, of force she must be eyed.”

Melinda laughs again.

“All set?” the hostess asks.

“Yes, thank you,” Phil says.

“Old memories,” Melinda smiles at the hostess. “We met at a Shakespeare festival.”

“Well, I hope you have a good evening.”

“You too.” Once out of sight of the door, they split, Phil pulling a key fob out of his pocket. It’s the work of a minute to find the car by the flashing of its lights, and the senator’s briefcase is in the trunk. Melinda pulls it open. “Skye.”

“Here and making life difficult for the scumbag,” she says absently.

“I’ve got a tablet for you.”

“Perfect. Meet you back at the hotel?”

Melinda pulls out the computer, then zips up and returns the bag to its spot. Phil locks the car, then drops the key fob down the side of the driver’s seat before closing the door. “We’ll see you there.”

“So, can I ask what the bet was?” Skye asks later that night, perched cross-legged on the end of a bed.

“Sitwell bet Coulson a bottle of tequila that he couldn’t steal his cell before the party finished,” Melinda says. Skye and Simmons goggle a little. “Coulson went off into Midsummer Night’s Dream and by the time he came back had appropriated Sitwell’s cell phone and keys. Sitwell was too busy staring at him to notice.”


	3. Hamlet, Act 1, sc 5

Ward has expected Skye’s visit - she’s the type to want closure, when it comes down to it - but he hadn’t expected it to be this soon. He figured she’d restrict herself to the interrogation recordings first. Well, no matter, she’s here now. Like May and Coulson, she wants information, and while Grant’s more than happy to give it to her, he tries to make her tease it out of him, snippet by snippet.

The longer it takes him to tell her what she wants to know, the longer she stays.

“Right,” Skye says finally, clicking around her tablet. “You might have actually been helpful for once.”

“Anything,” Grant reassures her. “Anything you need or want, you only have to tell me.”

Skye freezes for a minute, then turns the tablet off and tucks it under her arm. “You know, you said you could tell that I’ve been learning from May. I’ve been picking up a few things from Coulson too.”

Grant would ask what she’s been picking up from SHIELD’s new director, but this is the first time she’s come close to confiding in him since… since Providence, really, and if he interrupts her now she’ll leave the Vault.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

He blinks. “Hamlet?”

“Mmm, Coulson’s fond of Shakespeare.” She studies him, and Grant does his best to make his devotion visible in his face, show her that everything he is, is dedicated to her now.

The skin around her eyes and mouth tightens. “There’s another line from a little before that.”

“Oh?”

“Meet it is I set it down, that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.” She opaques the wall as she turns away, and Grant is left alone again.

“With all my love I do commend me to you,” he murmurs, sitting back down on his bed. He considers the situation a minute longer, then swings his feet up and around, folding his arms behind his head as he lays down. “The time is out of joint.”

**Author's Note:**

> See [this handy database](http://shakespeare.mit.edu/) for the plays.
> 
> Thanks to teacup_of_doom and rusting_roses for enabling/beta-reading for me.


End file.
